A Matter of Blood and Steel
by TheSnicketSister
Summary: Nate Heywood is hiding a problem from the legends and thus ends up in a situation where he gets seriously hurt. Nate Heywood angst/whump/sickfic It's going to be about 3 chapters when complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is to be a sick/whump/angst whatever fic first and foremost so I apologize if the history and details are a bit off and the plot is a bit lacking, I just wanted to see Nate hurt because I remembered his first episodes and am a horrible person. Though this chapter, he's not hurt that much, but he will be. It's either good or it's not, enjoy or don't, I wrote this for fun because Legends has immensely improved and I have never loved it more since it's season 3 finale.

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Chapter 1:

"Mr. Heywood, I would advise you against-"

"Not now, Gideon," Nate cut off the robotic voice of the Waverider before she could finish.

"Mr. Heywood, it is in your best interests to-"

"Can't this wait?" He grabbed his costume, impatiently preparing to leave the ship for their next mission and keeping his voice down.

Gideon was not dissuaded by his words. "I merely have some concerns about your condition-"

"I don't have a condition, keep it down." Nate whispered hastily as Ray passed by his rooms with a friendly reminder they were getting ready to go. "You're not going to stop me from being a legend," he added in a mutter.

"No, I'm not, Mr. Heywood, I'm merely stopping you from being a dead one." Once the coast was clear, Gideon continued. "My services are always available in the medicine bay."

"Yeah, yeah, med bay, got it." Nate waved her off and followed Ray to the Waverider doors.

"Glad you could finally make it." Sara glanced back at him as she equipped a sword and pressed the buttons to open the ramp leading outside. She faced the lowering doors, ready for anything and tilted her head. "Now, let's make some history."

"I think you mean break some history," Mick grunted, readying his heat gun.

"Didn't we already break history and that's why we're here in the first place?" Nate asked, fixing his clothes uncomfortably.

"Quiet, pretty," Mick ignored him, turning the dial up on his weapon, "I'm hoping there's another dragon." His eyes lit up with an almost manic glint.

"I don't know, don't you think having two fire-crazy maniacs will cramp your style?" Nate said with a small laugh.

"Quiet, both of you, there's no dragons. For once, we have a nice, simple mission. Gideon," Sara turned her attention to the ceiling, addressing her, "why aren't the doors opening anymore?"

Gideon's voice buzzed to life. "I apologize, Captain Lance. I simply cannot allow Dr. Heywood to accompany you on this mission."

"Nate, what's she talking about?" Sara faced him. So did Ray.

"Nothing. Uh," Nate fumbled for a moment, "I think she's got a circuit loose. Just press the button again." He brushed off her concern.

Sara eyed him dubiously, but ultimately let it go. The doors continued to lower, and she swept her arm across the landscape. "Well then, welcome to ancient Rome, boys."

The group of them exited the Waverider as it made itself invisible behind them, and walked together towards the coliseum.

They found their way below where the tunnels were long, dark and twisting. They passed by the saniarium where wounded fighters were being tended to for their injuries, most of which seemed beyond repair, and shuffled by.

"The mission is simple," Sara whispered, "we find our anachronism, send them back to their time and then get the hell out of here. No demons. No monsters. No," Sara stopped in the middle of her sentence, sensing the cold, sharp tip of a spear pressing into her back, "problem," she finished, raising her hands in the air.

"Looks like we 'ave us some new contenders." The guards had snuck up behind them while they were focusing on finding their time jumper. They prodded Nate forward, and he winced, taking in a sharp breath. "Some fresh meat for our new champion?"

"Nate." The others were held in their positions, unable to reach their weapons without getting stabbed first.

"Bring forth some armour," the first guard said, "we shall have ourselves a warm up for the crowds."

"You want me to fight?" Nate's voice was dripping with fear. He shook. The guards prodded him again and snatched the others in their grasps.

"Listen, if push comes to shove, just steel up until we can find a way to get to you. These bozos won't hold us for long," Sara tried to advise him in a whisper as the guards escorted them all away.

He nodded, not comforted very much by her words. A gulp caught in his throat. Right, just steel up. Just steel up. That would be a fine plan... if he had been able to actually access his powers the past few weeks. The guards shoved him forward and squeezed him into an old roman armour, made of leather and barely ensuring protection from a mosquito bite. He could already feel a bruise forming in the spot where they poked him with the spear. The crowds outside were chanting, waiting for blood and carnage. He stumbled forward. They were going to get it sooner than they expected.

He was equipped with a shield and a sword and the gates before him slowly rose to allow him to enter the centre of the building.

"And welcoming our new champion," the announcer shouted amongst the yelling, "Vlad the Impaler!"

Nate gulped again. Great. He thought to himself. Looks like he found their anachronism... and it had to be freaking Dracula while he was a haemophiliac in the worst time he could possibly be in in history. He gathered his composure, and let the gates slam behind him. He was Steel. He was Steel. He was-


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: _Warnings for: Mild swearing, blood.  
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He was so not steel.

Nate could practically hear Gideon saying, "I told you so," already. _Did robots say I told you so? Probably, yeah._ He thought. She had said worse, but to be fair, that was one time, and Mick started it. Mick almost always started it.

The crowd jeered around him, erupting in riotous applause as his opponent (freaking Dracula, fuck, he still wasn't over it) moved forward, cocky, vicious smile pasted on his (pasty) face and sword at the ready.

Nate hazarded a glance down at his own weapon, gripping it tighter in his hands. Now, studying gladiator fights in history was one thing… being a superhero was another… but actually sword fighting? Like, for real, honest to God (Gods?) sword fighting… that was a whole other story, and not a pleasant one.

Vlad, (Dracula?) Vlad Dracula…stepped closer, almost tentatively as if testing the waters before diving in. He spoke quietly, only loud enough for Nate and himself to hear over the crowd. "Do you know," he said, pacing slowly, "that I dip my bread in my victim's blood to eat?"

Nate wanted to nod, his throat constricting, because of course he knew, he was the biggest history nerd out there, but he didn't think the man, (could he even call him a man? He was a legend… in the non time bros sense of the word), would appreciate his knowledge.

"I'm going to enjoy your blood." Vlad swung his sword in one hand, testing the blade with the other and taking a fighting stance. "I can smell it already." He grinned, bulging eyes glinting wickedly in the sun, and charged, about to live up to the "Impaler" part of his namesake before Nate could even bat an eye.

In an instant, he ducked, swerving out of the path of the weapon, rolling on the ground. Clouts of dirt kicked up in his midst, distracting Vlad only for a moment before he charged again. The gritted sand pressed against Nate's skin, his own sword falling by his side. _God, he was going to die quicker than he thought. Maybe that should be a comfort, but you know, dying seemed pretty uncomfortable at the moment._

Enjoying the attention of the roaring coliseum, Vlad took his time standing over him, taunting the finishing blow. He leaned down, brushing the blade of his sword against Nate's cheek, a quick, small and clean slice, but enough. "Before I kill you," he whispered, "we're supposed to give them a show." He nudged Nate's weapon closer to him, taking a stride back as if daring him to reclaim it.

Now was his chance...

"You want a show?" Nate ground his teeth together, wrapping his hand around the hilt. "I'll give you a show." He swept to his feet, scooping the sword up in one swift motion, and launched himself forward.

Vlad stood unfazed, feet firmly planted in their position, making no move to get out of his way or counter the attack.

That should have been the first warning.

Nate plunged his sword into his opponent's chest, blood spurting out onto his armour, breathing heavily. Vlad's mouth opened wide, but not in pain, yellowed canines slowly growing into gleaming fangs.

That should have been the second warning.

Nate backed away, barely stumbling out of reach. "You know I think you should," he waved his finger over his own teeth, "get those checked out." _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ His mind was racing. _Simple anachronism his ass._ "A little filing, some caps, you know one trip to the dentist can do wonders," he kept going, rambling in his panic because what else could he do? His legs seemed to have stopped working, as if walking through molasses, and _freaking Dracula_ turned out to be, well, _freaking Dracula._

Vlad grinned again, glaring down at the sword through his chest like it was nothing more than a mere inconvenience. His eyes glowed a siren red and Nate found he couldn't look away.

"Silly boy," Vlad shook his head, ripping out the blade to the raucous cheers of his fans, "don't you know the only way to kill a vampire is to cut off his head?"

"Right, Thanos, I'll remember that for next time." Nate struggled to break free from the invisible hold Vlad bore over him. _Freaking vampires, man._ Instead, he found himself drawing closer, closer, closer, until they were at arm's length of each other… and Vlad thrust Nate's own sword through his stomach in one final move.

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 **Author's Note:** Ok, this was a very short chapter, but I promise the next one will not take as long to post as this one, and if it does, please call me out! Please comment, please bang some pots and pans together! The next one will be where the real Nate angst comes in, (I know, finally!) considering he just got stabbed. I'm sorry I could not focus on anything for a while because the show has recently been on so many drugs that I was just caught up in the insanity and couldn't handle normal mission angst when the writers gave us Ikea purgatory and Gary's cursed Hell nipple? Why, Phil, why?


End file.
